


Orders came for sailing

by Ark



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluffy Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Primarily Porn, World War II Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ark/pseuds/Ark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky drops into the trench. It’s pitchy black, and he’s good; there’s no warning save the displacement of air. Steve is wedged into a sentry stance beneath the earth, on guard and half-awake, when he feels Bucky come in like wind.</p><p>“What’s the secret password?” stage-whispers Steve.</p><p>“It’s ‘fuck off.’” Bucky displaces more air, wending Steve-wards. “Didn’t wanna startle you. Hoped you were gettin’ some sleep. You don’t sleep enough, Steve.”</p><p>“Whose fault is that?” Steve says, smiling under the ground in the dark. “C’mere.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orders came for sailing

**Author's Note:**

> So many thanks to [soemily](http://soemily.tumblr.com) and [reserve](http://reserve.tumblr.com) for reading first, and all of my [tumblr](et-in-arkadia.tumblr.com) beloveds.
> 
> Title from the English [translation](http://ingeb.org/Lieder/lilimarl.html) of the song [_Lili Marlene_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lili_Marleen#Marlene_Dietrich_version), but you should [listen](http://open.spotify.com/track/2ueOVitGw6YDUtz8pkzLi6%22) to the Marlene Dietrich version, recorded in German for the Morale Operations Branch of the U.S. Office of Strategic Services. It was meant to demoralize the enemy. 
> 
> Aus dem stillen Raume,  
> Aus der Erde Grund  
> Hebt mich wie im Traume  
> Dein verliebter Mund  
> Wenn sich die späten Nebel drehn  
> Werd' ich bei der Laterne steh'n  
> Wie einst Lili Marleen.
> 
> \--Hans Leip, "Das Lied eines jungen Soldaten auf der Wacht" / "The Song of a Young Soldier on Watch" (Lili Marleen)

Bucky drops into the trench. It’s pitchy black, and he’s good; there’s no warning save the displacement of air. Steve is wedged into a sentry stance beneath the earth, on guard and half-awake, when he feels Bucky come in like wind.

“What’s the secret password?” stage-whispers Steve.

“It’s ‘fuck off.’” Bucky displaces more air, wending Steve-wards. “Didn’t wanna startle you. Hoped you were gettin’ some sleep. You don’t sleep enough, Steve.”

“Whose fault is that?” Steve says, smiling under the ground in the dark. “C’mere.”

Bucky comes to him, crushes him to the dirt wall. Bucky’s mouth is soft and hard and voracious on Steve’s, hot and wet. Bucky fists a hand into his hair to mess it up. When they break apart it’s only half an inch. It’s been seventeen hours and thirty-nine minutes since they got to do this last.

“How was tactical?” Bucky’s had exactly the same amount of sleep as Steve, and he doesn’t bother to hide a yawn, just makes it more interesting by yawning into Steve’s neck.

“Waiting on the Brits to say yay or nay to the op. Still spinning wheels.” Steve shifts his cramped footing a touch, feeling, as always now, the strange distances between them. Bucky has outranked him until recently, and it’s one of the less visible but no less apparent shifts in their balance. 

Luckily, Bucky never seems to mind, or let on like he minds; says he’d much rather have a nap than sit through generals squabblin’ over strategy. Steve’s arms tighten around him in the dark. 

Bucky lets out a sigh, lets his body lean against Steve’s, reclining. “Shame. Boys are chompin’ at the bit for some action. Rumor was we’d be packin’ up at first light. They’re gonna be disappointed.”

Steve has been too caught up in strategies himself, has missed the mood of the camp as he moves from meeting to meeting. Bucky is invaluable, Bucky is valuable in a hundred thousand ways, but lately he has proven his weight in gold as Steve’s eyes and ears among the rank-and-file. 

Captain America is by necessity set apart, put up on a pedestal, but Bucky keeps him grounded. Too often decisions are made at the top without consulting the men at the bottom who will have to execute the commands, and it can be a recipe for disaster. 

Sometimes morale is so low, no one feels much like lifting a gun or following orders, and a night of leave is requisite. Other times, like now, restlessness and cabin fever set in, and it’s a danger not to give the men an outlet. Leave a situation like that too long and their local hosts end up paying for it, with drunken brawls in the village and farmgirls (and boys) fearing for their virtue. 

Steve frowns. Bucky can’t see the expression, but he’ll hear it well enough. “It’ll be a day, maybe two or three, till we’ll get word back. British bureaucracy makes us look like a well-oiled engine. Peggy’s in London, trying to speed things up, but if even she can’t--”

“Oh, _is_ Peggy.” Bucky’s voice comes back light and musical. “Did Agent Carter give you a goodbye kiss before she left?”

Bucky also can’t see him blush, but he can’t miss the way Steve fidgets. 

“Holy shit,” says Bucky. “She did, didn’t she.”

“It was a nice kind of kiss,” Steve recounts. “She knows about us, anyhow.”

“Does she!” Bucky reels a step, surprised, but Steve’s arms don’t let him far. “What does she know?”

“Peggy guessed it. After I brought you back. Said she had a brother who was like us, and a great-aunt, and she liked me all the same. Said you were kinda a jerk, though. No, she used some other word. More British. Buffoon, maybe. Or was it prat?”

Bucky puffs up his chest, but when he releases air he’s laughing. “That’s some dame you found,” he says. “Always knew you would. You gonna marry her when this is over?”

Underneath the ground it’s suddenly too quiet, a pocket in the earth cut out from the rest of the world. All Steve can hear is Bucky’s breathing, Bucky’s caught breath. Bucky is holding his breath. 

“We’ve talked about it,” Steve admits. “She’s willing to, to help us out, and to help secure her career. Damn shame that a dame's still measured by her husband, but it won’t hurt Peggy Carter to be married to Captain America. We’ve talked it out, figure it wouldn’t be a bad bargain.”

Bucky is back up against him, both hands in Steve’s hair, kissing his mouth again, then again. “You’re crazy. You’re crazy, y’know that? You drive me crazy.” 

“Is that a yes?” Steve realizes that he’s grinning hugely, presses the grin into Bucky’s lips. “You gonna stand next to me at City Hall, give me a ring?” Bucky will be there as his best man, in a smart suit, and no one but Steve and Peggy and Howard as witness will know the truth behind the ceremony.

“Always knew you were the marryin’ kind,” says Bucky, twisting fingers in Steve’s hair. Steve wishes he could see Bucky’s face; his blue eyes are lit-up and electric. “Yes. Sure, why not?”

So they laugh and kiss and are giddy about it in the hole in the ground in the battlefield in a scorched country.

A huge weight seems shifted from their shoulders. The future has always seemed hazy here, improbable. To have even the outline of a plan, a sound strategy, alleviates a deep, pervasive fear of separation. Now the course is laid in. They just have to live long enough to see it through.

The reality of where they are slowly seeps back into Steve, and he considers Bucky’s earlier warning. “How do we break the news we’re staying put? Don’t even have the rations for a good breakfast to break up the grumbling.”

Bucky thinks about it; Steve can practically hear his thoughts racing before they emerge, rapid-fire: “We run our own ops. Put ‘em through the paces. They want a mission, we’ll give ‘em obstacles in the woods. Make it at night, scare some sense back into ‘em. During the day we’ll do drills. Make those more interestin’. Have the specialists share out what they know. Won’t hurt to have more people drilled in hand-to-hand, or in snipin’ or field medicine. Can’t hurt. We’ll tire ‘em out, make ‘em beg for their beds.”

Steve’s arms are closing around him, viselike, holding him so close that it must hurt. It’s impossible to get enough of Bucky these frantic days, to draw enough of him in. Steve always needs more. 

He buries his face where Bucky’s collar exposes his neck and memorizes his smell. Bucky smells of every element: earth from the mud he crawled through to get here, fire from stale cigarettes and the rifle-burns on his clothes, water on his wet red lips, air in the wind he brought with him from the woods, in the pine scent of his hair.

“That’s a great idea, Buck,” Steve manages. “That’s a real great idea. Let’s bring it up at the morning briefing.”

“Well, if Captain America approves,” says Bucky, but he sounds pleased. “Turns out I’m full of great ideas.”

“Y’know what else you’re full of?”

“Mind your mouth, Cap. Gotta think of your adorin’ public.”

“What I do with my mouth is still my own affair,” says Steve firmly. He slides his hands down Bucky’s body, thinking about the construction of the uniform he has on and the best ways to divest him of it with pitiable space. This isn’t their first dance, however, and after some negotiation he has worked Bucky’s pants over his hips, and has his shirt rucked up to reveal an enviable stretch of abdomen. 

It’s enough for now. It’s more than enough. Steve drops down, feeling the cold sod give beneath his knees. The ground is wet and will soak through the fabric. Steve has other concerns, angling to take Bucky’s hard cock down in one swallow. 

It’s an impressive feat even when they have visibility and maneuverability, but Steve is determined to make it happen. It’s Bucky who chokes, not Steve, his hips stuttering helplessly as Steve surrounds him. 

Steve likes demonstrating that his new body is good for more than destruction; it has many uses in far more constructive acts. He can and should hold his breath as long as superhumanly possible, apply that skill to give Bucky a blowjob so relentless that both of them forget, a while, where they are. He moves his mouth on Bucky, sucking and licking him, keeping up a vacuum-tight pressure that makes Bucky shake, his hand on Steve’s shoulder scrabbling for purchase.

He only pulls back because Bucky’s hand moves, knots into his hair, won’t let go. 

“C’mon,” Steve urges, his voice hoarse from a raw throat. 

Bucky’s breathing hard, and his cock is hard and leaking an inch from Steve’s open willing mouth, but Bucky keeps holding back. “No. I want you.”

That gets Steve to his feet, but -- “Next watch comes to relieve me in fifteen minutes.”

“Then we better be quick about it,” says Bucky. His hands on Steve’s uniform are covert and and clever, knowing just where all the zips and snaps and ties are fastened, and how to undo them. “Been thinkin’ about this all day. When we get back to camp all we can do is jerk off with fists in our mouths. Not gonna waste the opportunity.”

“Bucky--”

“Been thinkin’ all day how I want to fuck you, Steve, how we could do it down here. You wanna know how?”

“Yeah. God help me, I do.” 

“Turn around.” Bucky helps, crowding Steve in closer to the packed-earth wall, so that Steve is braced against it, his forehead pressed to the dirt. Then Bucky’s hands go back to settle over Steve’s hips, and he works at getting Steve’s pants separated from the gear on his upper body. 

It’s a complicated set of straps but Bucky has affixed them often enough; he knows how to take them off. Together they get the pants to Steve’s knees, and Bucky hums, sliding a naked thigh between Steve’s. 

There’s a pause, and the head of Bucky’s cock brushes Steve’s entrance, pressure like maybe Bucky will just surge forward and fuck him like this, raw and unprepared, grip his hips and tear him up. 

Steve inhales a shaky breath, but the pressure is already retreating, and Bucky’s hands are busy behind him with a small tin. Then there is a slick finger easing in, then two, and Steve exhales.

“You thought I’d do it.” Bucky’s voice is softly pitched. He stretches Steve with haste but no small amount of care, and there’s a wounded note in his voice. 

“I wanted you to,” Steve whispers back. 

This revives Bucky quickly. “Not gonna hurt you. Just because you heal quick now doesn’t mean you don’t hurt. You carry this martyr thing any further, and I’m gonna have to start callin’ you Saint Stevie ‘round camp, an’ my nicknames stick.”

“Just need to feel you, is all. That’s what I meant. Want whatever you give me.” Steve cants his head, meets Bucky’s eyes over his shoulder. “And now I can take it.”

“That a challenge?”

“Last I checked.”

Bucky’s fingers give a final twist, and he pulls them free, lines up his cock. “Spread your legs wider. You gotta bend low. Yeah, like that. Just like...Oh, fuck, you’re tight. When did we do this last?”

“Poland. Last week. I did you two days ago in the supply closet at the base, though.”

“That was a good time,” Bucky agrees. “Jesus, Steve. The way you feel. Stay in you all day if I could.” His first thrust has carried him in slow and deep, and he ends up flush against Steve’s body, their bodies a mirror image. Steve’s fingers are dug into dirt, making handles of sod, and Bucky’s hands fit over his, Bucky frames him to the wall.

“Less talking, more fucking,” Steve pants, because Bucky is taking his wicked, torturous time, and the next watch is due to arrive any moment. Still, the danger of their position also works to increase Steve’s pulse, kicks up his adrenaline, and he arches desperately back against Bucky. 

Bucky drops his head to Steve’s neck, alternates bites with kisses, setting up a rhythm with his hips designed to take them both apart. Steve’s body might be different, their ratios altered, but it hasn’t changed how they like to fuck. 

It has, however, considerably broadened and increased the possibilities; when Steve was small and frail Bucky took care to be gentle with him, would stop if Steve so much as gasped. Now nothing stops Bucky, not the threat of discovery or barbed wire between them. When they’re housed in separate units Bucky will scale the wall to find Steve’s bed, break in on silent feet.

Bucky obliges by slamming into Steve the way Steve needs, riding him into the earthen wall. They’ll be filthy after this but a mention of the mud-field will cover it. Bucky’s thrusts are thorough, reseating himself every time, pushing Steve to bend lower and lower under the onslaught. Bucky knows just how to aim his cock so that each push drives Steve wild. He drives harder and faster, pinning Steve with his weight. 

“That’s it,” Steve murmurs. “I can’t last much long--”

“You’re damned right,” says Bucky. “You’re damned right.” 

He shoves home, drops a hand to hold Steve’s hip, keeps himself buried inside. “You’re gonna come on my cock, Steve, that’s what you’re gonna do for me.” The hand snakes around, gets a knowing grip on Steve’s cock, starts to jerk him time. “You know how I love that.”

Steve is so wound up he hardly needs the prompt, but it sends him straight over the edge. He unravels with a cry muffled by Bucky’s fingers in his mouth, which he closes on gratefully. He tosses his head back. He clenches down on Bucky inside him. 

He comes hard enough to see colors in the black, stripes Bucky’s hand with hot slick. These fingers Bucky sucks into his own mouth. Steve shudders all over, weak-kneed, while Bucky holds him up. Steve could be any size; they’re still the same.

Still Bucky doesn’t move to follow him. “Shame I didn’t get to see that proper. You were always prettiest when you came, and now you’re downright gorgeous.”

“Aw, shut up. No time to get sentimental.” Steve starts to work his hips in a circle that will bring Bucky along fast enough. 

“An’ here I thought you liked my softer side. Were you lyin’ about likin’ my poetry, too? Are you after me for my body, Steve?”

“Now, Buck--”

Bucky builds up a rapturous push and pull, fucking Steve as though their time isn’t dwindling by the second. “Can’t say I blame you. Everyone is. You’re gettin’ a lot of glances these days, pal, but I still got you beat. They put me in a suit like yours, take my picture, I’d double the recruitment rates overnight.”

Steve discovers that it’s possible to laugh and groan at once. “I don’t doubt it. I’d sign up twice.”

Bucky thrusts home and stays there, mouth open against Steve’s neck as he swears and goes off, cock buried deep, Steve rocking back to urge him on. When Bucky’s ragged breathing evens out, he keeps himself on Steve, moves his mouth up to kiss Steve’s. Drops a kiss there, lazy and affectionate, and it warms Steve as much as Bucky’s whole heat covering him.

“C’mon,” says Bucky, easing out and starting to hastily tuck in. “Look sharp. Whaddya wanna do, get caught with our pants down?”

“Bucky Barnes, one of these days I’m gonna knock some sense into you--”

“Aw, you love me.” Bucky’s shoulder knocks Steve’s instead. His fingers slip under fabric to help do up the straps. “You’d never touch a hair on my head. I got you wrapped around my pinkie, see.” 

“Never touch your head because I don’t like having greasy fingers.” 

“You think you’re a real comedian.” Bucky is trembling with laughter, but he sets his hands to Steve’s shoulders and shoves him backwards, starts to press Steve back again into the wall. “I oughta teach you another lesson, Cap--”

There is a hiss in the dark is followed by a series of numbers.

Steve sounds back the right sequence, and thirty seconds later he and Bucky are boosting each other up above the ground. They meet the next watch, and Bucky trades chewing gum for a cigarette. The fresh air hits them sharply, tastes intoxicating as a drink; but Steve misses the pocket of heat they created. Wishes that he could reach for Bucky’s hand as they leave the trenches behind for the treeline. 

He settles for keeping pace with Bucky exactly. Once they’re through the woods the territory is patrolled and they don’t have to focus on being quiet. Steve has to make certain he hadn’t imagined the best part of a red-letter night. “You really mean it, about Peggy?”

“Sure I do.” Bucky glances at him sideways, smirks at Steve’s dirt-smeared face, the golden hair sod-spackled. “Don’t see a better way. I like her. She’s got spirit.” He shrugs a little, trying to sound worldly-wise. “If she knows about us, that’s less of a chance she’ll change her mind an’ try to make you drop me.” 

“Never gonna happen, Buck.” Steve can’t take his hand, so he grips his elbow and holds it three paces, before the lights from the camp ahead forces him to let go. “You know that when I ask Peggy, I’ll really be asking--”

“Well,” Bucky cuts in, “ain’t it lucky you already know the answer?”


End file.
